"What exactly do you expect?" My best friend stands in front of me, hands gripping her hips, her face pulled into a scowl that is more anxious than disdainful. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Well," I say, slowing my voice as to keep it steady, "I expect that by morning she'll be back to normal, and we just have to wait it out."

"We!" She throws her hands in the air and turns to pace the kitchen, back and forth, crossing between the fridge (ominously dented near the door handle) and a chair (knocked over on its side, yet to be restored to its rightful place at the counter). "We! And then what? I'll jaunt over here every full moon to make sure you don't get mauled?"

A harrowing howl sounds from upstairs, echoing down the hall, followed by the rattling of chains not yet come undone. "I don't think I'm going to get mauled," I say. "She was the one who chained herself up, after all."

"Okay." She sets the desecrated chair upright and slumps into it, running her hands through a mop of unruly brown hair. "And what about all this?" She points a judgmental finger at the dented fridge, various other scattered chairs, and claw marks dug into my (recently renovated, mind you) wooden floor.

"Ah, um, collateral damage."

"Fucking exactly!" Her hands become fists that she grips and shakes at me. "Exactly, holy shit! And what about when the collateral damage doesn't involve your furniture, but rather YOU?"

I pause, lean against my wall, which shivers suddenly at the presence of growls rumbling throughout the house. I think about the possibility of bodily harm, which quickly devolves from serious consideration to fantasies of huge teeth clasped carefully over my neck, hot breath down my body, trembling in the grasp of paws larger than my face.

"I'll keep her chained up on the full moon," I say, but it comes out less firmly than I'd like, and I clear my throat. "On the full moon," I repeat, louder. "It's only one night a month. She'll be comfortable and nobody will get hurt."

Another howl sounds from my (our) bedroom. She boggles her eyes at me. "There is a werewolf in your room, and all it wants right now is to tear you apart."

I can't hide the smile that creeps across my lips, so I turn my head to stare at the staircase, which leads directly to my lupine lover. "Yes," I say, and my voice is light and airy, a dreamy sigh. "Yes. To tear me apart."